SKELETONS
IN THE
MIST
JENNIFER HAYDEN
ISBN: 1496142861
ISBN-13: 978-1496142863
SKELETONS IN THE MIST
Copyright © 2014 Jennifer Anne Hayden
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now or known hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, situations and places in the book are purely from the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone either living or dead.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Cavern Creek, Washington
September, 1994
Dinah Tavish reached over and slid the bedroom window shut with a thud, closing off the wind that had been more of a breeze merely five minutes earlier. There was a storm brewing. She could see that clearly, even in the dark. The black clouds above looked angry and ready to burst at any moment, seeming to swarm and roll in a rhythm all their own. The whistle of the wind gave her chills and she turned her head, the feeling that she was being watched catching her off guard.
The backyard below was illuminated only by the half-moon above her. The door to the detached garage remained closed, as she had left it earlier. The punctured spare tire she’d leaned against the brittle wood wall still sat lonely, waiting for her husband Hank to patch it when he had some time. The flat-board wood swing that hung from the large elm tree swayed furiously with the wind. The girls had left toys scattered around, something she nagged them regularly about, though they never seemed to get the message and clean up.
Dinah Tavish was not a superstitious person. She never had been. But at that moment, the hair stood up on the back of her neck and her usually steady hands began to shake. She was getting a premonition. She’d been cursed with the ability to sense things since she was a child. Evil and dark things. The first time she’d had a feeling like this, she’d been five. Her elderly neighbor had taken a fatal fall down a back basement staircase an hour later. Since that day so long ago, she’d loathed her own senses. And now, she dreaded the inevitable. Something bad was going to happen. Evil was on its way.
She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her goose bumped arms. Her first instinct was to check on the children. They were sound sleepers. The girls had been that way since they were born. At six years old, they were mirror images of each other. Long blonde curls and big blue eyes. They were the spitting image of their mother, their father always liked to point out. And she couldn’t argue. Both twins resembled her more than a little.
Turning her head, she stared at the bedroom door, open only a crack. The dimmed light from the hallway spilled through that small opening and illuminated a slit in the floor. The house was quiet, but yet unsettled for some reason. She’d sensed something strange earlier, just after dinner. That was when the eerie feeling had started. Hank had come home for supper, something he rarely had time to do, what with the hectic nature of his schedule as the sheriff. They had enjoyed the casual banter of the girls talking about their first week of first grade over chicken and dumplings. There’d been jokes and laughter and a sense of carelessness—until Hank had walked out the front door and headed back to work. The minute the taillights of the police cruiser had disappeared down the lane, Dinah had grown anxious. Immediately, the aura of the house had seemed to shift.
She tiptoed across the room and reached for the light switch she’d deliberately left off earlier so that she could stare at the moon. She did that most nights when Hank was on the night shift. The switch clicked and the light came on for only an instant. Then she heard a pop as the bulb burned out and everything went dark again.
Her skin crawled with an uneasiness she couldn’t clarify. Her heart began to pound furiously. She felt fear claw at her insides, desperate suddenly to be near her children. She reached for the doorknob without thinking. Once in the hallway, light was her guide to their open door. She found them sleeping soundly, each tucked into their identical pink comforters. The small night light she had plugged in between their twin beds gave the room a soothing glow. She peered down at Roxanne first, careful not to wake the youngest of her twin daughters by six minutes. Her child’s soft breathing calmed her somewhat. She brushed a stray curl away from Roxy’s face and lifted the comforter up to cover a bare arm. When she turned to Rachel, she did the same thing, her heartbeat slowing down slightly. She said a silent prayer for her girls, still feeling a sense of unease. Then she turned toward the door and stopped dead in her tracks. She sensed him before she saw him, looming dangerous and dark in the doorway of the room. His massive form was very familiar to her. She relaxed for a moment, almost convincing herself she was being silly with her anxiety. And then he moved slightly and his face became illuminated by the light in the hallway. She saw the anger there. The despair. She saw the evil.
“Don’t wake the girls,” the deep voice warned, its gravelly interior enough to make her skin shrivel with terror. “I don’t want to have to hurt them.”
She let out an oath and backed up, her motherly instincts telling her to protect her children.
“I know you were expecting me, Rose. I could see that from the look on your face when I watched you in the window.”
“No,” she heard herself say, her head shaking reflexively. Her trembling hands reached for something, anything to defend herself. They connected with nothing but Roxy’s old porcelain doll that lay haphazardly on her bed, tossed aside in a fitful sleep. Before she could react to the oncoming attack, she felt two strong, gloved hands wrap around her neck. She clawed and fought, desperate to free herself from the evil that had enveloped her. The entire room reeked with the scent of the devil. She knew that smell. She had felt it permeate her nostrils before.
“You should have come quietly, Rosie,” his voice said, the fan of his acrid breath eating into the skin of her face like acid.
She reached her hand up to claw at his face. He loosened his grip before she connected with his leathery skin. She turned for the door, desperate to lead him away from her girls. She wasn’t fast enough. His thick fingers grabbed her from behind and he tugged her backward. By this time, the twins were awake and screaming. Chaos broke loose and Dinah’s only conscious thought was that she had to protect her children. She fought and kicked and screamed, her body convulsing in defensive, but yet futile attempts to free herself.
Rachel’s tiny form jumped from her bed and she ran to help her mother. It took only one swing for their attacker to send Rachel’s tiny body jutting through the air to land in a heap on the floor in the corner near the closet.
Dinah’s breathing became shallow,
her oxygen supply nearly depleted. The large fingers around her neck were so tight—so confining. The panic that had given her an adrenaline rush earlier was now draining her of the ability to think—the ability to feel. Her eyes could barely focus. She tried to speak, but no words would come. In that instant, she knew she was going to die. Bitter darkness cloaked the room in a frightening ambiance.
Dinah kicked her feet, tried to keep her mind in focus. She knew Roxy was still on her bed. She could only vaguely hear the tiny sobs coming from her little girl’s mouth. Rachel was motionless on the floor. He would kill them. And God only knew what he would do to them first.
Determination to defend her kin gave her one last burst of energy and she lifted a leg in an attempt to kick her assailant. When his fingers loosened somewhat from around her neck, she turned her head. She saw Roxy’s shaking form huddled in a corner of her bed. Her wide blue eyes were staring in horror while tiny tears dribbled down her cheeks.
Before the fingers could tighten on Dinah’s throat again, she managed to communicate with her frightened child. “Run, Roxy! Get your sister and run!” The words came out in a desperate rasp. The fingers clenched around her neck again and she stared into her daughter’s eyes, willing her child into action. She could feel the life draining from her body. Shutting her eyes, she began to pray.
ONE
Cavern Creek Washington
June 2014
Detective Chas McCall grimaced as a raindrop landed with a splat on the shoulder of his black leather jacket. He hurried up the walk of the white two-story home that loomed before him and ducked through the front door. It was pouring outside by the time his feet hit the hardwood of the foyer. It only figured that the skies were going to open up and dump, just in time to ruin a crime scene. Fortunately for him, most of this crime scene was indoors.
Washington State’s unreliable weather never ceased to amaze him. In the twelve years he’d been involved in law enforcement, never once had the weather been on his side. For five years, he’d dealt with Seattle’s wrath. Rain nine months out of the year and a city whose criminals seemed to nearly out-number its cops at times. Eventually he’d grown tired of the big city hustle and bustle that had at first seemed so enticing to a small town boy looking for excitement. Then he’d come home to Cavern Creek, a small town just on the outskirts of Spokane. After joining up with the Spokane Police Department, he’d been placed at the Cavern Creek substation and settled back into life in a small town rather easily. He wasn’t alone. He had the company of two of his brothers, both also members of the Cavern Creek substation. Needless to say, their parents, who also still lived in the small town, were thrilled to have their children so close to home.
The McCall kids consisted of five boys and two girls. With Chas, Trace and Josh on the police force in Cavern Creek, that left Brody and Jared—one a firefighter, the other a doctor—both living in the city. Then there was Joely, a married mother of one at twenty-two, and Luci, a high school junior, who still lived at home.
Cavern Creek was a storybook town with old fashioned buildings that lined Main Street, one high school, one junior high and one elementary, all scattered about the outskirts of town. There was a grocery store, a library, a hair salon, a post office and a fire station. There was also a bowling alley, a movie theater and drug store, all of which were run by the same family. The one extravagant restaurant in the town—if one could call it that—was Lola’s Diner. The only other place to eat in town was the Burger Barn, Cavern Creek’s version of a McDonalds.
For the past six years, the mayor and the police department substation had shared offices in the town hall, which sat smack dab in the center of everything, its large pillars out front rather out of place in small town America.
Crouching down just beyond the foyer, Chas frowned, blowing some breath between his lips. The scene before him was extremely unusual in these parts—more something you would see in the city.
Myra Tavish had been an English teacher at the high school for nearly two decades, She’d been Chas’s teacher at one time. He’d liked her—respected her. She’d had a way about her that let kids know she was in charge, but at the same time, willing to hear their side of things. For a teenager, that was gold.
After leaving the school district a few years back, Myra’s love of reading and literature had led her to apply for a spot at the library. Each morning she had left her house on Beacham Street and walked the two blocks to work. Every night, she’d walked those same two blocks home, deviating from that routine only to make a quick stop at the grocery or the Cut and Curl occasionally. Myra was a creature of habit. She was a woman that everyone in town had liked and respected. And now she was dead, the apparent victim of a gunshot wound to the heart. From the size of the hole, it looked as though she’d been shot by a smaller caliber handgun. The suspected murder weapon had already been bagged by the officers on the scene. The even more shocking thing was who Chas had found holding that murder weapon when he’d first entered the home an hour earlier.
He stood up slowly, his head shaking as he made the mistake of letting his mind think about how sweet the old woman had been—and how caring. She’d been taking care of her young nephews for six years now, since the death of her brother, Hank, who had selfishly ended his own life, leaving his young sons orphans. From the time the boys were small, she’d raised them as her own, doting on them and giving them what had appeared to be nothing but love and affection.
That was why it was so shocking that Devon Tavish, only fourteen years old, had been found holding the murder weapon and huddling in a corner of the living room, nearly catatonic, when police had arrived on the scene. Devon’s twelve-year-old brother, Dylan, had been the person who called the police and reported that his brother had shot his aunt. Now neither boy was talking. Dylan was sitting silently on a chair in the kitchen, his blue eyes staring into space. Devon was handcuffed and sitting in a cruiser out front, his stony expression full of hate and rebellion. At least he was no longer catatonic. That had ended the moment the police had slapped handcuffs on him. He wasn’t denying anything. In fact, he was being downright obstinate. He’d kicked, screamed and cursed upon being arrested. But he hadn’t denied that he’d murdered his aunt.
With dark hair and blue eyes, both of the boys were rough around the edges. Neither had nicely trimmed hair, instead wearing their tresses down to their shoulders in a messy tangle. They were decent looking enough, with cleanly sculpted features and clear skin. Devon had likely started shaving recently and obviously was going for the scruffy, five o’clock shadow look, if you could call it that. It was more peach fuzz than stubble.
Both boys had interesting reputations. Chas had seen them at the station more than once for various minor indiscretions, such as smoking pot and vandalism. Devon Tavish had been accused of being a peeping tom as well. As much love as Myra had given her nephews, it had apparently fallen on deaf ears. The boys definitely attracted the wrong kind of attention for themselves. But nobody had anticipated anything like this.
“Little shit almost bit me.” Chas looked over at his younger brother, Josh, who had ushered Devon Tavish out to his police cruiser just a few moments earlier, and none too easily.
Like all the McCall men, Josh had light brown hair and blue-gray eyes. He was a tough cop, and most likely next in line for a promotion with the department. Chas was proud to work with him.
“Younger one still in the kitchen?” Chas spoke thoughtfully, his gaze landing back on what was left of Myra Tavish.
“He’s the one who tried to bite me. He’s a vicious little shit.” Josh indicated toward the front yard. “He’s in another cruiser. I’ve got Henshaw watching them both.”
“I’ll need this secured. Can you help Trace while I talk to the boys?”
“They aren’t being very chatty. Younger kid’s changing his story now. Says he’s not sure what happened.”
Chas raised a brow. “I thought he called in the incident. From what I was briefed,
he already told the dispatcher that his brother shot his aunt.”
Josh shrugged. “He’s not saying that anymore. He told me to fuck off.”
“Nice.” Chas looked at Myra again, then cursed. “Something isn’t right here. We have no other witnesses?”
“Not that I know of. There are a lot of lookie-loos outside. Maybe one of them saw something useful.”
“I’ll handle that. Just help Trace out and catch up with me outside.”
Chas hit the front porch, ignoring the throngs of neighbors and nosy onlookers as he headed down the steps and walked over to the first police cruiser parked in the driveway. Thankfully the rain had subsided for now.
He looked in the back window and saw twelve-year-old Dylan Tavish hunched over in the back seat. The boy didn’t look sure of himself at all. He looked scared. But then he didn’t realize he was being watched. Chas indicated to the officer at the car to unlock the back door. When it was open, he crouched down and faced the young boy, his brow raised in question.
“You wanna tell me what went on here, Dylan? Were you home when your aunt was shot?”
Dylan didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head and looked out the opposite window of the cruiser. Chas could see the boy’s hands shaking. And he couldn’t blame the kid for being scared. Hell, his brother had basically been arrested and his aunt was dead. Things were looking bleak for him.
“I understand you’re scared. We’ll work this out but I need you to tell me what happened in there.”
“I ain’t scared of you,” the kid said, his head turning abruptly. He glared over at Chas, a lock of long, stringy hair falling over his left eye. He shoved it away angrily. “I’ve got no reason to be afraid.”
The sweat breaking out on Dylan’s forehead said otherwise, but Chas didn’t point that out. Instead, he let out a sigh. “You called the police earlier this evening. Dispatch says you gave them your name and said your brother shot your aunt. Is that true?”
Skeletons in the Mist (The McCall Twins) Page 1